Tumbleweed
by Wythe
Summary: Success fades as life's pedometer keeps ticking away. For Falco Lombardi, it means discovering the door when the light burns out.
1. Chapter 1

Blue skies were masked with the clouds of a heavy storm. The roar of the supersonic engines sounded distant and each breath echoed in his helmet. Darkening skies heralded jagged lightning as the clouds snuffed out the sunlight. Raindrops tapped a broken rhythm. His breathing grew heavier. He lifted a blue feathered hand to the canopy, wiping away the dense condensation. He paused. The sun had caught his eye. Barely visible beneath its stormy blanket, its dim light ebbed for a moment before disappearing behind thickening clouds. He shut his eyes. The feeling came again, beginning just below his heart and gradually working to his throat. Nervous tension. The sounds of combustion grew dimmer and dimmer and the cockpit seemed to fall out of reality.

"Firebird, Eagle 7 over."

The voice came like a transient ghost.

"Firebird, Eagle 7, respond."

His mind snapped back into place.

"This is Firebird."

"Sir, That storm looks nasty; requesting a change in altitude, sir."

"That's a negative, Eagle 7; we will fly into their radar."

"Sir," A squeak voiced rodent came over the radio, "we won't have to climb more than a thousand feet…"

"Aardvark, is that you?" The blue falcon inquired.

"Yes sir." it squeaked again.

Firebird shook his head unconsciously, "Read your strategics _before_ you take-off, anything above a thousand feet and we will light up on their radar like a Christmas tree. You _know_ that and so should everyone else."

"Yes sir, Firebird, remaining straight and level."

Firebird grinned slyly, _Good kid, but a little too shit brained sometimes_, he thought to himself. _It's funny, I never thought I would be commanding a kid like that._

The whole situation would have stunned him years ago. Strapped in the cockpit of his Wolfen IV, he was flanked by seven cadets straight out of Basic Aeronautics Training. Most of them have only flown in training missions and none of them have flown in combat. His Wolfen IV, once state of the art, was now just a solid production fighter, as good as you could you get while the Arwing Mark III was still in pre-production.

He jerked his dog tags from the chain and they clanged out in the open. He lifted one up gingerly. "Major Falco Lombardi. 201st Fighter Squadron." He once told Fox that he would never wear the colors of the Cornerian flag; those shit-brained hypocrites couldn't tie him down with their bureaucratic agenda. Well, 20 years later and there he was.

"Firebird, Heron. I just picked up 5 bogeys on radar. 'Bout a 175 miles out."

_Shit, how did they find us, _He thought. "Heron, bearing?"

"South 53 degrees west. Heading for us like camels on a summer storm."

Radar blips sounded on HUD. Falco glanced down at the green dots flashing on the grid. 5 bogeys in the textbook V attack formation.

"Firebird, these guys aren't looking for a flapjack grill out here. They're no cohorts of ours."

Falco sighed, placing a hand on his forehead, _What's he saying? Ah, to hell with it._

Quickly, Falco brought up the satellite map of the primary target, a little supply base nestled in the Ingara Mountains. He zoomed out to outlying environs.

"Okay Wolverines, engage above the hard deck." Falco frantically screened the map. Mountains, lakes, rivers, all streaming by in rapid succession. He stopped on one area, a deep canyon cut by the Lossian River. He had a plan.

"Alright. Aardvark, you lead the attack…"

An unnerved squeak responded, "Sir?"

"You have your orders. Eagle-7 you come with me. We follow the Lossian Canyon, Bearing North 35 Degrees 05 Minutes, East 01 Degrees…26 minutes. If Aardvark can't destroy the target then we attack from the West. Flank'em and shank'em. Your flying better be polished because I brake for nobody."

"Yes sir, I got your wing," The rough canine acknowledged.

"Good to finally do some air superiority. I was just getting tired of bombing shit." The raspy voice of a nameless pilot announced.

"Hawkeye, you couldn't piss on the broadside of Solar. What makes you think you can tag a hostile?" Another voice mocked.

"Settle down kiddies and don't shit your diapers, the enemies are comin' in hot and so will we." Falco ordered. He punched the engines. The force pinned him to the seat and the fighter rocked under the power of the screaming thrusters. He climbed above the clouds.

"Firebird, we got some Threats." Eagle-7 clamored over the radio.

Falco noticed. The radar picked up two bandits that broke formation and pursued them. Nothing unexpected, but they were gaining ground too fast.

"Shit, Eagle-7 warning color yellow. Engage at will. I don't know what the hell we got on us but it's coming in hell for leather."

"Copy Firebird, attaining combat speed and altitude." Falco hit the brakes. The green blips closed in.

Aardvark's high pitched voice squealed in his ear, "I got visual. Holy shit, I've never seen that before."

In response a black spot screamed across Falco's nose. Falco jerked instinctively and focused on an attack.

"Aardvark, Firebird, Tally 1. Warning Red. Combat formations!" He yelled. He could see the bandit in front of him. It looked vaguely like an Arwing, but the body was too flat, the wings too narrow, and the twin engines were completely foreign. _Could it be?_

"Firebird, Eagle 7. Is that a Mark III?" the canine said in disbelief. Falco understood his concern. The new Arwing model is currently in pre-production stages, the maiden flight merely two months ago. _How in the hell…?_

The blare of an incoming fighter broke his thought. _Tally 2._

Falco broke away. The corner of his eye caught the bandit blowing through before banking to reengage.

"Eagle 7, engage Tally 1. I'll get the one in front on of me."

"Roger that Firebird, weapons free," the husky barked.

"Go get him, you son of a bitch." Falco called.

"Affirmative." Damn dog doesn't know what joke is. Falco braked right, straining against the G-forces as the Arwing broke into defensive maneuvers. Blue Tip missiles, mounted on the Wolfen's wing, awaited deployment. The missile, dubbed "The Arwing Killer" was the first and only shield-piercing missile of its kind. The odd fluorescent material that coated its surface refracted energy shielding, letting the missile pass through and hit the fighter directly. One shot, one kill. If Falco could get a radar lock. Up, down, left, right, the guy zipped around like a gnat.

_Jeez this little shit is good_, Falco thought. He hadn't seen piloting this good since…

"Falco, if you'd shut your mouth for a second I'd might mistake you for decent pilot." Fox's voice echoed from the past. Falco paused. Years past by, the memories had not dulled in the slightest and the pang of nostalgia hit his heart. A frantic voice broke the remembrance.

"Firebird, Eagle 7. No joy on Tally 1. He's just…gone…." The radio chatter of the other pilots garbled the remainder of the sentence.

"He's on my tail, can anyone…"

"I got your hostile on the starboard side…"

"Fox 1...that's a miss."

Falco had no time. "Eagle-7, buddy spike and give it fast,"

Eagle-7 gave his location, "Grid Square Echo Charlie 12, Bearing South 82 degrees East, Angels 5."

_Echo Charlie 12? How in the hell did he get so far away?_

"Eagle 7, break away. Merge on my position."

"Roger Firebird… Oh shit he's behind me."

"Who is behind you?" Falco's bandit nosedived in front of him. The falcon pushed down to follow and his wingman screamed in his ear.

"He's got missile lock I can't shake him."

"Eagle-7, get the hell out of there!"

"Firebird, I can't get away. Oh F…" the radio went silent. Falco checked the HUD, his ally vanished from the screen.

"Firebird, Hawkeye. We just saw Eagle-7 go down and out. You need some assistance?"

"Negative, Hawkeye, stay on target." He had the bandit in his sights. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, he had work to do. Action was the only course.

G-forces racked his body. The reticule danced around his target and his kill was imminent. He got tone.

_You're dead, buddy._

The Arwing shook violently. Stunned for a moment, it took a few seconds to realize the bandit hit the brakes and was flying straight at him. Falco banked right and nearly had his canopy ripped off. The Arwing settled directly behind him.

_This guy is crazy, _he thought, or wanted to have thought. A voice in his subconscious saw a method to the madness. This guy knew what he was doing. He pulled back on throttle, straining as he came out of the dive. His bandit followed suit. Falco felt a tinge on the back of his neck and he obeyed the command. His instincts told him something important.

He quickly punched up the map on HUD. With one hand on the throttle and the other dancing on the touch screen, he found the Lossian Canyon. A glance over its exterior revealed twisting ravines, jagged rocks, and ludicrously sharp turns. It was perfect.

"Alright kid, let's see if you can pilot _this_," Falco banked to left and hit the accelerator. The thrust pinned him to the seat and his muscles forced the blood back to his brain. He glanced behind him as saw the Arwing lose distance. Falco laughed. The new model's thrust to weight ratio is still lagging behind; and the Wolfen VI is a 5 year old design..

"Firebird, this Heron, are you sure you're okay out there?"

"Roger Heron, I've got sunshine comin' out my ass." he chuckled. A deep, snake-like ravine opened into view and Falco hit the brakes. It would be a tight fit but the bandit would be glass-chewing nuts to tail him. He flipped on his side and eased his way below the canyon edge. Falco navigated gingerly through winding passages of the canyon and the Lossian River slithered across his vision. Relaxing for a moment, he listened in on the rest of the team.

"I got him, I got him," the voice of Heron echoed over the air waves.

"Then fucking shoot him," Responded Hawkeye.

"I can't, I don't have tone,"

"Then you don't have him, do you?"

"Just a second for god's sake, you're like a barking terrier."

"Would you two keep it together out there! Hawkeye, divert and engage the primary target, Heron can take care of himself." Aardvark ordered. Falco bowed his head. _God help us if these kids survive._

A warning light flashed on the display and Falco snuck a glimpse. Just as he feared, the bandit was fucking crazy. Falco jerked the throttle, speeding through the canyon as fast as possible. Forces jerked him around the cockpit. He zoomed over a ridge, then another, and then he nearly creamed the side of a boulder. "Damn, I may be getting to old for this," He thought. The warning siren beeped again. Missile lock. He swiveled his head and saw the Arwing bob back and forth like hyperactive fly. "He's still back there? That guy's stubborn as hell."

"How can I lose him. How can I lose him." the thought ran through his mind. "Maybe a S-curve. Out of the question. Okay, If I moved….Wait, wait." The Arwing came in for the kill. "I got it."

Falco hit the brakes and dived to the river. The Arwing, surprised, tried to emulate but nearly clipped canyon floor. Falco hit the boost and went ballistic. His plane protested with a metallic rattle and Falco damn near lost control. He jerked the stick back and somersaulted over the valley walls. The sky went blue, then brown, then blue again. The fighter wouldn't stabilize. In a last ditch effort he shoved the stick forward, leveling the craft mere yards from the ground. He sighed with a mix of relief and exasperation.

"My heart's going to explode if I keep this up,"

Luckily, it hadn't. He moved in. He can't get away now.

The Tone was ebbing softly in his ear. Just a few more seconds. The monotone bleep of radar lock was hitting a crescendo. A grand symphony to the ears. His focus narrowed on the target. He could see the pilot in a vague silhouette, waving his arms and glancing behind him. Oddly, he didn't glance at Falco. He looked upward and then waved again. "Wait a minute," Falco thought to himself. The warning light flashed again.

Falco craned his neck. To his left, an Arwing dropped from the sky and moved in for the attack. His heart jumped to his neck. In a panic, he flipped a U-turn and got the hell out of there. He soared above the canyon walls, reaching well above the Hard Deck. The Arwings followed suit.

"No, stupid, that's what they wanted you to do." Falco said to himself, "Fucking Falco you're so damn stupid," He gunned it. Maneuvering at this speed was difficult, but Falco held it steady. "If can get above Mach VI they can't use their missiles, I might have a chance. Go, go, go you damn machine!"

"Firebird, Aardvark, can you repeat?" He must have said that out loud.

"Ignore that transmission, stay on target,"

"Firebird, sir, are you sure you don't need help out there?"

"Aardvark, I said stay on target,"

A determined pilot interjected, "Aardvark, Hawkeye, I'm going out there,"

"Hawkeye, if you come out here I'll shoot you down myself. Now blow through and take out that damn target!" He commanded. Falco weaved in and out. He tried every stunt, every sequence, every pattern. Nothing could shake them. They homed in like a bloodhound.

Falco's muscles ached. Fighting against the G-Forces was just too much. He felt tired. Slowly, his mind slipped away from tension and the cockpit was cold. Deathly cold. The horizon shimmered with orange glow of the sunset. The display spilled a green swash that illuminated the falcon's face. The throttle was soaked with sweat and felt slippery to his hands.

"I'm breaking away, target in sight,"

He breathed in.

"Pop. My angels are good,"

He breathed out.

"I got lock."

He closed his eyes.

"Fox 3. It's away!"

His eyes snapped open. The sound of missile lock punished his ears. They had him. A plum of lavender smoke erupted from his wings. He couldn't believe it. He was out of the fight. The Red Flag exercise was over.

The HUD flipped on, revealing two ecstatic faces grinning wildly in celebration. One pilot, a baby faced eagle with a brown mane of feathers, pointed a finger in Falco's direction, "You're dead Firebird, bug out and head to base."

His big eyed reptilian companion added, "You're outta here, sir." He smiled with an air of condescension. Same as ever.

"Hey dipshits." Falco responded. "Take a gander at your screen there. Oh, let's say about 200 miles to the west. I guess that would be the Grid Square Echo Charlie 10." Of course, he was referring to the primary target. The one these guys were supposed to be defending.

"Oh, see there it is." He motioned towards his own display. The yellow triangle representing the base stood clearly on the black canvas of the radar grid.

The yellow blip faded into nothingness.

"Uh oh, there it goes. That means 'Mission Failure' on your side, boys." The once jubilant faces of the young pilots lost some of their luster. Not too much, however. Falco knew that the smug self satisfaction of eliminating their flight instructor would keep bar-stool commentary for months. Given Falco's status, probably ten-fold of that. The two pilots had something else to worry about, though.

A furious female screamed in their headsets, loud enough even for Falco to hear, "Gryphon, Everest, you get your asses back to the LZ on the double!" The eagle pulled his headset away from ears, saving his earing, "We'll discuss why the hell you can't follow my orders. Bug out."

Falco chuckled, "You heard her kids."

Both fighters broke off and sped out. Falco turned back to his team's channel.

"Alright Wolverines, good work. We'll meet at 18:00 for debriefing. Over and out."

Aardvark sighed, "Yes sir Firebird, I've had it."

_You and me both, Aardvark. _Falco thought.

Heron spoke up, "So much for a training mission, that combat zone was hot. It's like the Flight of the Valkries out there,"

"Heron, Hawkeye, what the hell are you talking about,"

"Hawkeye, you remember the song. It's from that movie, you know," an unconformable pause saturated the channel.

"Heron, you're an idiot,"

The whole team laughed. Except its leader. Falco Lombardi switched off the channel. He heard enough for that evening. He leaned back against the seat. Sore from the floor up, he felt like he taken a good beating. The LED lights above him cast a grim shadow across his face. He stared up to the sky.

"You're dead Firebird." He heard again, the phrase cycling in his mind. He narrowed his eyes and slammed his fist against the cockpit. A metallic ping emanated from the hull..

"Dammit,"

--

"Falco strode down the galley. Around him the joyous congratulations of his pilots set the tempo for future festivities. Mostly of the alcoholic and feminine kind. In times past Falco would have gladly joined them, but too many responsibilities constrained him and deep down, he began to feel above that sort of thing. What a crazy world.

A loud cry caught his attention.

To his left, Gryphon ran to his wingman in excitement. The iguana, surprised by the outburst, could only stand motionlessly while his partner charged him. Despite his size, the Iguana collapsed effortlessly as the bird tackled him to the ground.

"We got'em, dude, we got'em." He yelled in his partner's ear. The hot-blooded eagle smacked his helmet and the poor reptile flushed in embarrassment.

"I know, I know, now get off me." the big lizard screamed. He picked up his companion like a down pillow and tossed him to the side.

Unphased, the wiry eagle continued, "Nobody's ever done that before, man, not anybody, except you and me."

"Well," Falco responded to himself, "Not in the military, anyway," His words carried a kind of mental poison. The event was still replaying in his mind and he felt a little chill in his spine.

The reptile grinned, "I know," He grabbed Gryphon by the shoulder and pulled him to his side, "But, you don't need to molest me on the landing pad over it."

Gryphon just laughed, "Come on, buddy, I saved your ass out there. I think I deserve a little something out of appreciation."

"You'll get something alright…"

"Gryphon, Everest!" came the sharp lash of a female flight instructor. Practically running towards them, the instructor tore at her flight helmet in a feverish attempt to remove it. The pilots immediately stood at attention., their faces magically stoic and respectful.

"What in the hell are doing out there. I told you regroup, not go flying on your little tirade from the goddamn…" she pulled on her helmet again, finally yanking it free. The now visible face of the lynx was cinched with contempt. Enraged, she slammed the helmet on the ground, the impact sending a reverberating crack on the pavement. The two young pilots would have laughed if not on the knife's edge of verbal assault.

Everest was the first to speak up, "Ma'am, we had visual of the bandit. The enemy posed a significant threat to the base and we had permission to engage,"

"I aborted that action." She said through clenched teeth. She lifted a finger and thrust it violently at him. "Or did you suffer from a little, selective hearing again?"

A deep-chested chuckle emanated at Falco's back, "Look's like the Major's blowing her top again," Falco looked behind him to see Eagle-7 smiling his sharp toothed Husky grin. He showed no visible signs of displeasure from his elimination during the exercise. Maybe he was just satisfied watching the two get chewed out. "They fly like demons, but they'll never make it to graduation at this rate." Falco fixed him with piercing stare.

"Don't you have a report to file?"

The Husky's eyes widened and he momentarily lost composure. "Yes sir, right away sir," He said. The canine fumbled a salute and gathered his things. He ran off the landing pad posthaste. Falco watched with a bemused interest. "Too serious. Well, maybe that's to his benefit." He muttered to himself.

"...and what the hell is your excuse?"

Gryphon's eyes remained straight ahead of him, focused as if his life depended on it " Ma'am, Everest was in trouble. I thought it would be best if."

"You thought it would be best?" The lynx broke in, "Well I think its best if I kick your balls into your throat, but does that make it a good idea?"

"Ma'am No ma'am,"

"You're right, it wouldn't be, no matter how much I want to. And you want to know why?" She didn't wait for a response, "Because you two clowns are some of the best pilots I've seen in years and if you had something other than shit between your ears, we wouldn't have lost today." The two pilots just stood in silence.

"Next time, when I tell you to divert to my location, you do it no matter what shit you get yourselves into, am I clear?"

"Yes Ma'am!" they called in unison.

"Dismissed." They both turned about face and marched from the landing pad with forced sternness. Falco walked over and snatched the helmet from the floor. "You might not want to break this, Miyu. The government might bill you for it." Miyu ripped it from his hands. "Well, screw you very much, _Falco._" She replied.

"You're welcome."

--

The dim light of the desk lamp shone weakly, giving Falco barely enough light to write his reports. Hours of this kind of thing made his hands hurt and his brain go numb. He lifted his hands from the keyboard. The clock on the wall read 20:12 and he officially had enough. His body demanded caffeine. Forcing his way up of the desk, he sauntered over to the coffee maker and grabbed a bag of grinds. He stopped when he spotted a dully colored photograph peering at him through an oaken frame.

Picking up the picture, he was welcomed with the 20 year old smiles of the former Star Fox team. Peppy stood to the right, grinning with the comic jowls and graying fur. As old as he looked, he was virile compared to today. Today, Peppy's only method of existence is through a jungle of tubing, oxygen tanks, and dialysis machines. Slippy, well, he was doing alright for himself; became a full time engineer at his father's company. Then founded one of his own. Makes him over eight figures. Good for him.

Then Falco landed his eyes upon himself. He looked so young. He smiled that cocky ass little smile, his feathers all nice and full. The Falco then was so alive, not a hint of anxiety etched on his visage.

"Wow," he marveled.

In the glossy exterior of the photograph, Falco could see the reflection of his current self. The feathers around his body had begun to thin and look rustled. The red ones around his eyes had faded like a bleached cloth. The skin around his face begun to drift to the floor and his beak developed white spots of discoloration. Crows feet snaked around eyes. _When had I grown so old_?

"Could you keep this room any darker? What are you, a bat?" The overhead lights flicked on, temporarily blinding the poor bird. A few blinks later he saw Miyu leaning against the door way, her hands in her pockets and an ambiguous smile on her face. Her fur remained tussled from her helmet and she never removed her flight suit. "You okay over here. I thought it was getting kinda late for you." She said inquisitively.

"Naw, I just wanted to finish these damn things today so I didn't have to do them tomorrow." He pointed to the monitor on his desk.

She chuckled, "I've been done with that for over an hour, Falco, you having troubles in the writing department again?"

"Hey, back when I was a merc I never did this stuff." Falco responded with a tinge of bitterness, "You've had way more experience with this bureaucratic garbage."

"Sure, sure." She strolled towards him with exaggerated steps, "Well, Falco, You put on a hell of a show out there today."

"I am not so sure about that."

She cocked her head to the side, "You really think so? I heard those boys screaming my ear the whole time. They were pretty impressed with some of the stuff you did out there."

Falco gave a sigh and folded his arms, "I don't know. I just don't know."

"Oh, I see how this is. The big tough legendary Falco get taken out by his students and now he's developing some shattered ego syndrome." she said with a pretend frown on her face.

Falco looked up to the ceiling, "Well, maybe."

Miyu flinched. "Now I wasn't expecting that." She sat down in Falco's chair. "Okay, seriously what's wrong?"

He looked to the floor, "Today I saw two pilots do things that were absolutely insane."

"Well, that's true." She said with a laugh.

"No, I mean." He paused for a moment. "I mean the kind of crazy that people used to call me."

Miyu blinked a few times, "What do you mean?"

"The maneuvers they do are things that nobody else would even try, and it always works." He threw his hands up. "It's kind of thing that me and Fox did and everyone Oohh and Ahhed about."

"I'm just not sure what I can teach these kids."

Miyu rested her head on her hands, "Falco, these kids still have a lot to learn. For instance, they need to learn things like, 'divert to my position' or 'skip it' or 'get your ass back here'" She stood up from her chair with a sigh, "You see, they don't know what any of that means."

"Miyu, I'm being serious."

"So am I." She said flatly. Rising from her seat, the lynx wore an icy expression. "Those two have serious conduct issues. It's only by the good graces of their skills that they have survived this long."

"They'll figure it out eventually. Hell it took me until I was in my mid-thirties."

Miyu shook her head, "You were still a merc then. This the army and no commander will put up with that shit for long. It's a bitch because I actually want to see them succeed. You can't make it a "for-hire" now." She focused her eyes on Falco, "You know that as much as anyone."

Rolling his eyes, Falco lifted his dogtags and jingled them in the air. "Tell me about it. After the damn Tribunal passed the Katina Resolution not a single military gig in the system would contract out." He let the tags drop to his chest, "Ran me right out of business."

Miyu just looked at him, "You know, if you don't like it here you really shouldn't force yourself to stay."

Exhaling, Falco looked somberly to the floor, "I don't know, I don't necessarily hate it here. It's just." he paused. "I'm not sure I would be happy anywhere."

He waved his hand up, "It's like, I'm out in space. There is nothing around me, no anchor, no umbilical cord, no mother ship. I'm just floating away. Just floating away." He said, his last words nearly inaudible. Unconsciously, he wringed his arm and stared at the wall.

For a moment Miyu watched his nervous reaction with reluctance. Finally, she walked up to him and, with an irritated look, grabbed the offending appendage.

"Stop that. You'll end up rubbing all the feathers off your hand."

Falco squinted in annoyance, "What I do with my hands is none of your business."

She shook her head, "I don't care. It gets on my nerves and it makes you look neurotic."

He reached to her hand, making to pull it off of him. When he touched her, the flash of a gold band reflected in his eyes. He peeked at the ring; its luster was fresh, no more than a few years old, but still bared the dings and scrapes of a punished life. The price of belonging to Falco Lombardi. Miyu was close and her breath blasted his feathers. His eyes flicked up and met Miyu's. She smiled. Falco stared at her for a moment before smiling himself. He leaned a little closer. He opened his mouth a crack and squinted his eyes. Miyu didn't breath. Falco was almost there when he stopped. He took in a breath, then bellowed a hearty laugh

Miyu stood perplexed, "What are _you_ laughing about?"

"You girly," He peeled her hand off of his, "I'm laughing at you."

Miyu pushed him away playfully, "Typical." She stepped toward the door, "I'll see you later."

He took a few backwards steps into the office. "And by the way!" He called.

She turned to face him, "What?"

"When was anybody going to tell me about the Arwings?"

The feline smiled, "I'll give you the full details later, but let's just say an old friend suggested it."

"An old friend?". He mused for a moment before it came to him. "Dammit! I should have known!"

He heard Miyu laugh down the hallway. She had already left.

Frustrated, Falco settled back down into his chair and picked up his coffee cup. His empty coffee cup. "Damn, I never made the damn coffee." He muttered glaring into the empty recesses of the mug. He stood back up and headed over to the coffee maker. "Frickin' Miyu, how they hell do I ever complete anything when she's around. Jeez." He ripped open the package, sending coffee grounds shooting outward across the table, "DAMMIT!"

The phone rang behind him. Curiously, Falco furrowed his brow. "Who the hell?" He checked the clock. 20:40. He never got calls this late. Okay, he did, but usually by insurance salesman and never at his office, Tired and angry, Falco was tempted to just let the damn thing ring off the hook, but its beckoning call got the better of him. He lifted the receiver. "Major Lombardi's office,"

A soothing feminine voice returned his greeting, "Yes, is this Mr. Lombardi?" Not anybody Falco recognized, it was quiet and nonthreatening, like a mother speaking to her child. "This is him."

The woman continued, "Sir, this Williams Medical Center, calling in regards to a…" He heard a paper rustle, "Fox McCloud."

_What did he get himself into this time. _He thought to himself. "Yes, he is a friend of mine."

She continued, "Mr. Lombardi. We were instructed to contact you in regards to Mr. McCloud's current health.'

Falco gripped the phone tighter with impatience, "Yes, and?"

"It seems Mr. McCloud has suffered an injury."

Falco sat expressionless, "Fox usually gets those."

"Well, Mr. Lombardi, he is very sick." The woman paused a moment.

"Sick? Sick isn't in Fox's vocabulary. What's going on."

"We are not entirely sure; Mr. Lombardi, but we can guess that…" Falco heard enough.

"I'll be right down." he slammed the phone down on the receiver.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This is the second part of the three part series. I had intended for this be a one-shot, but you know how it is. It's not done until it's done.

The super sonic engines whirred to life. The engines spit fire and turbulence and the noise cracked against the ear drum. It pushed harder, faster, stronger, like a screeching banshee. Papers and thrash flung across the hangar and peppered the walls. A man, dressed in a full mechanics uniform, covered his eyes with his cap as the power sent ripples across his fur. Bracing himself, he stretched an arm out, giving a thumb up to the pilot. In a moment, the engines cooled and the screaming silenced to a hum.

The feline mechanic put his hands to his mouth and hollered, "It sounds good! No problem at all!"

"No. It just doesn't sound right." A light brown vulpine head popped out from the cockpit. "Not enough of that deep bassy roar. Not getting enough power."

"You're just being a perfectionist!" the mechanic called, "looking for problems that don't exist!"

"A perfectionist huh?" the fox questioned. He jumped down from the cockpit and stepped toward the man. "Well, what would I be if I wern't?" He patted him on the shoulder.

The feline chuckled, "Well, if you're going to look for a problem, you'll have do it on your own. I got lunch in about 2 minutes."

"Not a problem. I know how to work on my own ship. I think I'll take a look at the core, see if the superconducting rods aren't burnt out." the fox said.

"Hey listen, Fox." the mechanic came up him, his voice barely a whisper, "Now, I don't want to sound pushy or anything, and I know you're a straight laced guy." Fox exhaled and rolled his eyes. The cat continued, "But we've done a lot of work on your ship and you've built up quite a tab. We're going to need to see some money if we keep going like this."

Fox waved his hand in dismissal. "I know, I know. Once I get a solid job, you'll get your money back with interest, Mike, so don't worry" The feline was not relieved.

"Just giving you a heads-up Fox. You're a good friend and all but this stuff doesn't come for free." he pointed to the modified Arwing. "We dumped a half a mil into that thing already. It's an old plane and I understand it's got sentimental value. But we will not go bankrupt over it. Not even for you, Fox"

Fox put on an empathic smile. "Don't worry, a jobs comin' up soon." he pumped his fists, "I can feel it."

The feline formed a puzzled expression, "Well, I got lunch now. See you in an hour."

Fox waved, "See ya Mike." The mechanic waved back and left.

Fox turned back to his ship. Getting to the rods was tricky. The simplest way would be to cut through the fuselage behind the canopy and work the wires from there. That would require welding the damn thing back together, though. Some other way, some other way. Stretching his arms to the sky, he waltzed out of hangar doors and into the bright sun light.

It was a warm spring day. Cloudless. The smell of heated tar filling his nostrils. Rows of hangars stood single file, their metal exteriors glinting brightly in the noon day sun. The heat left blurry reflections on the ground and all sorts of flies and bugs buzzed across the environment. The aging fox took the sight in. He pursed his lips and moved back in the hangar. He had an idea.

Climbing over the cockpit, he planted his feet on the back of the Arwing, feeling along the surface, he found two distinct depressions on the hull.

"There we go." he said out loud. "just pop these suckers and I can pull out the core. Simple enough." He moved down to grab his tool box from the cockpit. Pulling two flatheads from box, he dug them into the two depressions and pushed his weight down on them. The panel snapped open with an audible crack and he flipped it open with a dry squeak.

In front of him a large black handle sat indented around polished metal. The encasing for the Power Core. He grabbed the handle, flicked off the locks, then pulled. Nothing. Frustrated, he whacked it with a screw driver, sending a hollow metallic reverberation through the Arwing. He placed both feet in the depression and grabbed the handle with both hands. He pulled again.

It came free, flying out the Arwing and hammering him square in the face. He tumbled backwards, sliding down the sleek fuselage before crumpling on the hard concrete floor. He lied motionless for a moment, his eyesight blurring around the edges. Rubbing his eyes, the aches and pains of the fall returned as he regained his senses. He looked up to see an odd shadow taking up his vision. It hung partly on the edge of the fighter, rolling back and forth like a mesmerizing pendulum. It stopped. Fox furrowed his brow at the unusual object. It was cylindrical, smooth, and reflected light with strong radiance. "Oh, the core." Fox said to himself. He must have dropped it.

The core rocked back and forth, and slowly came to a stop. Then it fell off.

"Shit!" he rolled to the side, the power source smashing the floor next to him with a solid crack. Fox stood up on his knees, a little wracked from the near death experience. "My god." He shuttered, "It's like my own ship wants to kill me." He vice-gripped the core and carefully lifted it from the ground. In the concrete, a large dent mapped the impact point of the fall.

Fox grimaced. If that he would have landed on him, he would have been smashed to oblivion. Slowly, he ascended up the Arwing to the panel. He set the power core down, making sure to jam a few screwdrivers under it to prevent it from rolling off again, then settled back into the depression. Behind the power core was a mass of tangled multicolored rods, each directed to every electrical system in the Arwing. He filtered through each one, checking for any flaw in the superconductive material.

Finally, he found one.

One of the rods had partially melted and hung low like a limp appendage. He slowly fingered it, assessing the damage. "A pretty wicked surge must have done this, holy shit." He said to himself. He set it down. He would have to pull the damn thing out and put in a new one. He leaned outside and took a pair of rubber handed wire cutters from the tool box. A dull pain crept along his forehead. Wincing, he rubbed the sore spot for a moment. _My head hurts from the fall, no big deal._ He went back to work.

Lying on his stomach he reached inward and snatched the melted wire. He pulled it taut, getting as close as possible to the opposite end and moved to cut it. A little twirling sensation danced around in his stomach and he felt a little light headed. Stopping for a second, he considered taking a break. Get his bearings back. No, might as well just slice it. He brought his shears to wire and made his incision. Lightning shot out from everywhere.

The crackling electricity sent his fur on end and he rocketed away. He sucked in air at a frantic pace. The sparks continued for a few seconds before snuffing out. "What the hell was that?" he said out loud. It was beyond unusual. He sat in silence, slowly breathing to calm himself. Why was he cold? He glanced down, finding his leg in a pool of liquid. Instinctively he lifted his leg, watching the glinting drops fall one by one on the fighter's dull gray hull. The liquid followed an uneven trail across the surface. Fox massaged his forehead. It was really painful now.

He crawled along the fluid's trail, winding up to the lead coverings of the power core. The river of fluid ended and the air was strangely hot. Fox rotated the cylinder in his hand before his thumb hooked into a jagged crack. His pupils dilated in shock. Fox turned over the core, handling the material like a dry-rotted corpse. He gazed into the crack, it was no more than three inches long and inside was nothing but darkness. Air around it swirled with intense heat. His fingers ran furrows along his head and he shook violently.

He was firsthand witness to a nuclear meltdown.

Frantically, he tossed the cylinder like a burning coal. Green eyes wide with horror. His head twirled as if looking for something. He stood, ran, and jumped off of the Arwing. Running, he came to a glassy box, IN CASE OF EMERGENCY pasted in fire red letters. He smashed the glass and pulled the lever. Shutters crashed to ground, snuffing the light and reverberating tinny swashes throughout the hangar. Sweeping red lights illuminated the dim the interior. He stood silently, knowing no soul could enter in and out before emergency technicians arrived. The hanger belonged to him alone.

He stumbled slightly, swaying back and forth before taking a clumsy step towards his ship. Making his way through the uneven light, he climbed to the cockpit and laid his head on the pilot seat. He vomited. Gracelessly, he flopped his arm around, feeling in each crevice along the display. He felt a slick, glossy surface in his fingers. He snatched it and held it in front of him, the alternating lights bringing it in and out of sight. Smiling, he could see the picture of his son, bright eyed and virile, waving wildly at whomever gazed in the photograph.

"There you are." He said, "There you are."

--

"He suffered over a 10,000 REMs of radiation over a short period of time." The doctor recited from his reports, "Tests show massive gastric hemorrhaging, abnormal electrolyte balance, telogen effluvium..."

Falco shook his head in frustration, "Hey, hey, hey I'm not your med school pupil here, just give it to me straight." He looked into his eyes, "How is he."

The doctor stood with unflinched professionalism, "He's doing poorly. I'll give him less than a day. We can't reverse the effects at this point. We're doing all we can do."

Falco sighed heavily. He had run it through his mind a hundred times. Their lives were dangerous, he knew that all too well. Before a particularly perilous contract, he envisioned himself speaking a eulogy to a hundred heart-stricken mourners, passing the thoughts of his fallen brother in somber remembrance. Now, all that mental preparation didn't mean a damn thing. "Thanks for the help. Can I see him?"

"Right this way, Mr. Lombardi."

The doctor led him through the opaque corridors of medical ward. The silence, broken by the rhythmic clacking of their footsteps, unnerved him. The crypt-like gloom of the cookie-cutter hallways felt ghastly. The doctor stopped on a dime.

"Here it is Mr. Lombardi." He gestured like a game show host to uncovered prize, "I request you try to keep your voice down while speaking to him. We don't usually have visitors at this hour." He whispered.

Falco nodded, "I get it. Thanks Doc." He reached for the handle. When his first finger tapped the cold metal latch, he reactively pulled back. Visions of a hacked and mangled canid taunted him, and he grew afraid to open the door. He clenched his teeth. He depressed the latch and the door swung open. A long step into a pitch black room. He turned on the light.

A single row of empty beds stretched along the wall. At the end, a linen covered lump rested among IV drips and beeping diagnosis equipment. Falco walked over to it. The person underneath lay hidden, blankets drawn over his head as if to stave off the world. Falco reached for the covers and slowly pulled them back. His jaw dropped to the floor and his knees nearly buckled.

The man he saw was dead.

The corpse lay in a pile of scattered orange hair, its eyes sunken and its complexion cracking and blistered. Its tongue was black and hung to the side, spittle dripping down it's face. The doctor must have made a mistake. He did not recognize this person. Did he go into the wrong room by accident? He scratched his head and looked away. He took one step back.

"Falco." The corpse spoke.

Shocked, Falco looked down to see the dead body reanimating, motioning towards him as if beckoning to the grave. "Hey, Falco it's good to see you." It said weakly.

He leaned down to greet him, one feathered hand grasping the fox's, "Hey Fox, how you doing?"

Fox rolled his tongue in and out of his mouth, "Well, I think I'm going to die, Falco."

"Don't say that."

Fox let out a hacking cough, "It's true, Falco."

"I don't care, don't say it."

"Okay." He pumped his hand once in reassurance. "Okay, I won't Falco."

They sat in silence for a moment, simply listening to each other breath. Fox closed his eyes, "Remember that time, it was right out when we got of the Academy, we went down to the beach, the breeze was just picking up."

Falco smiled, "Yeah, it was on a Saturday."

"Yeah! A Saturday. We were out and we had this huge, um, bonfire out there, and we had all that beer and whiskey and all that other hard shit. Remember?"

"Yeah, Bill was there too."

"Bill was there too."

Fox lifted a bony finger to the ceiling, "I remember you, no, we were all drunk as skunks. And you went down on the beach and you tried to hit on that wolf chick, what was her name?"

Falco furrowed his brow, "I don't remember."

"Well, you probably wouldn't, knowing you. But I remember you trying to impress her, showing off and the like, and for whatever reason you tried to surf." Fox giggled, "and you've never surfed a day in your life. But you had to get that girl, so you got on that board and waded out there." He pantomimed with his hand. "Then you got up there and you stood up, and the first wave came around." He started laughing to himself, "and you just ate it. You fell over, your face smacking the water, the board all flopping around."

The canine fell into mute hysterics, "And then you got up, and you were all like, 'Where did the board go?' and me and Bill just cracked up, man, we just cracked up."

Falco grinned slightly, "Yeah, yeah. That's right."

"That was great," Fox said with a smile. Falco looked down solemnly. The memories stung at his eyes.

"Falco?"

"Yeah."

"Should I have done the things that you did?"

"Like what things, Fox?"

"Like join the military, get a steady job, that whole bit?"

"Couldn't say."

"Why not?"

"I'm not you."

"Well, of course not, but could you pretend?"

"I still couldn't say."

A pause.

"Falco?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you like flying with me?"

"Flying with you, sure." Falco gripped Fox's hand tighter. "It was when I wasn't flying that was problem."

Fox looked up, staring at the ceiling as if his gaze could pierce it, "I remember, in Area 6, just above Venom, we went through that massive furball. Lasers and missiles like raindrops all over the sky. I clipped my wing on an enemy fighter, I lost control and was barreling towards a carrier." He held his hand up, moving an invisible stick as if piloting the fighter in his mind. "I jerked around, working the throttle with everything I had, and finally got outta there."

"Falco," He turned to face him, "That was one of the best moments of my life."

Falco shot him a puzzled look, "Wha'?"

"It was. It always that way, Falco. It's that thrill, you know, that thrill. You just can't get it anywhere else." He exhaled. "Not even from Krystal."

Falco tried to gain his attention, "Fox."

Fox didn't listen, "I know it hurt her. When she handed me the divorce papers, I didn't want to sign them. I loved her, I really did."

"Fox, that's over now."

"I signed it for her sake. She wanted to be let go so I let her. Falco," He started a hacking cough, blood dribbling down his muzzle.

Falco wiped the blood from Fox's chin with an open hand, "Jeez Fox."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Falco, but I need for you to do me a favor." His eyes were wide and teary.

"Sure, whatever you want, Fox."

"Tell Krystal to go to the corner of 7th and Main. There's a storage place out there. Um, EZ storage or Big ol' storage or something like that." Fox winced, "There's a storage container, No. 47, code 050638, my dad's birthday."

Visible discomfort wracked Fox's body and he writhed with some inward pain.

"You okay there, Fox?"

He seemed to settle down a bit, "Yeah, yeah, it just hurts like hell."

"What hurts?"

"Everything."

Falco nodded in acknowledgement. He wanted to say he felt some deep hearted compassion for the dying man, but something wasn't there. The full effect would not come to him. Even as he watched his friend suffer, contorting with death pangs, no tears could come to his eyes.

Fox giggled to himself, as if reminding himself a timeworn joke, "Falco, did you know my son is going to be eight next week? Eight years old, wow."

Falco shifted a little, still holding on to Fox's hand, "He's a good kid."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." the last words fading to a whisper. Fox's expression went stoic and he stopped moving, his mouth agape. Falco guessed, no, knew something was wrong. He shook him violently.

"Fox, you still with me?"

Fox squiveled his head with one stiff motion. His eyes blinked a few times, staring at the falcon as if he was an enigmatic stranger. The vulpine leaned away. From his lips emerged a wraithlike utterance, "Noooooo.". The air grew cold and stagnate.

The falcon sat dumbstruck and the fennec begun to reel in horror. "I know you." he whispered. "I know you I know you I know you. No I'm not ready." He tried to pull away.

"Fox, calm down." Falco pleaded. Fox twisted to get away and his fur came off in sheets. "No, No, I won't make a bastard son!" He cried. Falco grabbed him and pulled him close, "Fox." He spoke softly, consoling the overwrought canid. Fox began to shutter, ceasing his resistance and falling limp in the falcon's arms.

He looked up to Falco, tears running rivulets from his bloodshot eyes. "Tell me I won't be like my Father, Tell me I won't be like my father."

"Okay, Okay" the falcon said.

"Please?"

"You won't end up like your father."

Fox smiled. "Thank you." he replied.

The canid went limp, sliding down Falco's forearms and leaving a trail of fur on his jacket. The falcon was wide eyed, shocked and stunned and frozen in time. He leaned forward, peering quizzically at the unresponsive body of his friend. A hand reached out and touched the fox along the cheek. Something wasn't connecting in the bird's head.

"What am I looking at?" he said to himself. He sat there, kneeling quietly with his friend. The diagnostic equipment sung a mechanical tune Falco couldn't comprehend. A soft, sweet voice whispered in his ear, "You have to let him go, you have to let him go." Reluctantly, he released his friend from his grip. A pair of forces lifted him to his feet. With no resistance, the forces turned him towards the door and ushered him out. The door slammed shut behind him. He blinked a few times, gathering his senses as best he could.

He heard frantic taps of scrambling feet in the room behind him. The doctors have taken over. Falco sat down in a cushioned chair against the wall. Studying his hands, he found thousands of short orange hairs interlaced with his blue feathers. Carefully, he worked on removing them, brushing, pulling, and wiping them away in little orange balls.

A patter caught his attention.

Down the hallway, a blue vixen sprinted into view. Her footsteps creating a rhythmic beat and her unmade hair fluttered behind her. She didn't even take note of Falco's presence; she just bolted to the door.

"They won't let you in there." Falco said flatly, not making eye contact.

The vixen stopped, slumping down and breathing hard. "Falco?" was how she greeted him.

"Yeah." He replied. "I was wondering when you'd show up, I figured you would be here before me." The falcon plucked a few more hairs out of him.

"I..huu..tried." She said between breaths, "But…I was getting Marcus…from his friends house..when I got the call." She stood up again. The vixen had changed a lot. Her face had rounded out with a cushion of fat and slivers of wrinkles traced from her eyes. Her hair lay in unkempt locks shooting in every direction, most likely never combed. Her attire was modest, conservative, the kind of thing you would see on virtually any 30 something mother. The biggest change was her eyes. They were sullen and flat, far from the youthful jubilance of old. In fact her whole body just seemed weathered, like a tattered flag waving on a rusted pole.

Falco wasn't sure whether it was just the single-parent stress or something far more dire,

but Krystal wore the scars. "How is he?"

The falcon said nothing.

"Oh god."

She sat next to him with her head cupped in her hands, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. "I knew something like this would happen." She twirled a finger in her hair, "He was always doing something dangerous and wild."

She turned her head towards him, "What happened to him?"

Falco gazed at her in surprise, "You mean you don't know?"

Krystal gave a faint hearted chuckle, "I guess." she paused on reflection, "I guess I never asked."

He nodded. "The doctor said he has radiation poisoning."

"Radiation Poisoning?" she said concernedly, "How did he get that of all things?"

"He was working on his ship. They were telling me that the Nuclear Power Core in his ship cracked open. The UHSH coolant spilled out and the core went radioactive. Like a tiny meltdown." The bird finished, his eyelid tightening slightly.

Krystal's mouth was agape, "What? Why did he do something like that? And without any safety gear!" She placed her hands on her eyes, "God! Why did he do that? Slippy never did that. When he worked on the core, he had the full biosuit and everything."

Falco clenched his fist and rested it on his forehead, "I don't know Krystal, it's Fox." he said with a slight tinge of irritability.

The vixen sighed, "I'm just frustrated, that's all." She furrowed her brow as something came to mind, "You know, when I first married Fox, I figured, 'you know once I have a baby, then he will settle down, get some job, then I won't have to worry.'" She shook her head, "I actually thought he go the safe route. I was so naive. God, I was so naive."

Next to her, the avian sat quietly, his fists clenched. "Krystal." Falco said, trying to grab her attention.

"He went out on those missions. One after another. He would be gone for months, leaving me with Marcus." She clenched her teeth at the memory. "I know, I could have gone with him but somebody had to be at home. I wasn't going to orphan my son."

"Krystal."

"and you would think that after his father died he would try to be safe. I don't understand it, Falco. Why did he keep going out there? I just couldn't take it anymore. I loved him, I loved him so much. But I couldn't let him keep doing it to me. I had to leave." She rubbed her eyes.

"I used to, to gamble." Krystal uttered with remorse, "Every weekend I found myself in front of a slot machine, a sports book, a roulette table. I lost so much money." She looked at her hands, staring darkly as if they were dead vipers. "But, something drew me in, some dark…compulsion. I needed a distraction, from my life, whatever that would be."

Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, "If only Fox could have…"

"DAMMIT KRYSTAL!" Falco screamed in bloody rage. Krystal gasped, horrified as Falco hurdled his chair down the hallway, rolling across the tile. She couldn't speak.

"Is this why you came down here?" he said with a sneer, "To whine and cry about how rough it's been for you? Is this your idea of respect?" He loomed over her now, his shadow completely overtaking her.

She stammered something he couldn't discern.

"No, no it isn't."

"I'm sorry, Falco, I didn't mean to…"

"Didn't mean to?_ Didn't mean to? _What did you mean, Krystal? What _exactly_ did you mean?"

Krystal paused, her face a mixture of hurt and shame, "I was just, just, just saying what came to mind. I didn't really have a reason." She swallowed in nervousness, "I'm sorry, Falco."

"Well that's great, just great." He ran his fingers over his head. He drew a sharp breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. Something inside gave a little, like a hairline crack in a concrete dam. He rubbed his hands together in nervousness.

The vixen touched his shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"He's dead."

A pause. "Dead?"

The falcon raised his head, meeting her eyes with as much sincerity as he could give, "Fox died."

Krystal stood expressionless. "What?" she replied.

He was crying now.

Krystal grabbed his shoulders and shook him, "But, how can that be? They told me he alive. They told me he was alive!"

"Not anymore, Krystal. He, He died in the room a few minutes ago." He pushed her hands away. "It's weird, he just went limp in my arms. Like, like some TV soap opera." He held up his arms, pantomiming the dead body in his hands. "He didn't deserve to go like that. Nobody deserves to go like that. He was supposed to go down in fire and glory, like a pilot." His arms fell to his sides. "It was horrible."

Two blue eyes, bloodshot with tears, stared into his and Falco looked away. He wrung his hands and a single tear cascaded to the floor. Without a word, Krystal embraced him in a tight squeeze. Slowly, Falco embraced her as well and waited there, quietly listening to her sobs.

"How can I say goodbye to him now, Falco, how can I say goodbye to him now." she said.

He didn't say a word.

Eventually, Falco heard the shuffling of feet on the floor. Looking up, he saw an open door slam shut behind a doctor, pulling off a surgeon's mask. Krystal caught a glimpse the man and released Falco from her grip. She ran up to him, "What happened?"

The doctor looked at her with a stock-still expression, "Are you the patient's wife?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"I am…I mean…I was. I'm his ex-wife, recently divorced." she responded.

"Okay. Your ex-husband suffered from a range of complications from the radiation. The severity of which caused internal gastric hemorrhaging. Eventually the cell death in and around the stomach released toxins into his blood. His kidneys soon after."

Krystal frowned, she knew fox's fate but the details made a more visceral impact, "So what are you trying to tell me, Doctor?"

"Matthew, Doctor Matthew. I'm saying that your former husband passed away 10 minutes ago. I'm sorry." He finished. It struck Falco that the doctor was straightforward but not entirely insincere. The doctor made for the door, "If you wish to see him, I can lend you a few minutes before the coroner arrives."

"That will be fine, thank you." she looked over the Falco, "You want to come?"

The avian waved his hand in dismissal, "No you go on. There's nothing for me in there."

She nodded and went inside, the doctor closing the door behind her. The man turned to Falco, a slight look of displeasure downturning his features. "I knew him," he started, "I read about him in a magazine a long time ago. I still remember the cover, it had these large letters, I think they were red or orange. They read, 'A New Breed of Hero, Mercenaries on the Front Line'. And below that showed Fox McCloud, plastered with a hero's flourish."

Falco nodded.

"You were in there too, on the second page." the doctor continued. "They couldn't find a recent picture of you so they posted something from a high school yearbook. You looked like you were sixteen at most. I remember thinking what a trip it would be to meet you guys."

Falco gave a lazy stare, "So what'd you think now that you've met us? Not what you were expecting?"

The doctor shrugged, "Maybe when I was back in college I would have said yes. But I know better now. I really didn't expect any different, I just wish I could have met you under better circumstances."

The avian didn't care about this, "Well, thanks for the help, doc. I'll be going now."

The doctor showed him the way out, "Well it was nice meeting you. I'm not sure how you arrived, but almost all public transportation is closed at this hour. You'll probably need to take a cab."

Falco turned up an eyebrow in confusion, "At this hour? What time is it?"

"Around 2:30 AM." The doctor replied.

"No shit? Wow." The avian said. He caught the glisten of a stray tear on his face and wiped it away.

"Is there something wrong with that?" He asked.

The falcon threw up a hand, "No, no, it isn't. I have my own car."

He nodded, "Well, it's easy to get lost out here so if you need any directions, just tell me where you're going and I can tell you."

"Easy to get lost, huh?" Falco laughed, "Thanks, doc, but you've done enough for me already. I can find my out."

"Okay, goodbye Mr. Lombardi."

"Just Falco, please."

"Okay then, Falco."

Falco turned and walked out into the dull night air, shutting the door behind him. Ahead were dots of vehicles reflecting orange rays from the streetlamps. The parking lot was black and not a soul could be found. He stretched his arms to the sky, lost in thought. Where was he going? It hadn't crossed his mind. Home? Maybe. No that's not it.

He looked up to the sky, "050638." The number rang in his head. The combination to the storage locker. What did he have in there? And why tell Krystal about it? Suddenly, Falco was moving unconsciously, heading to the next destination.


	3. Chapter 3

Metal corridors stretched for a hundred yards. Each wall was inlaid with large steel doors indistinguishable from each other in the light beige interior. Falco moved down each hallway, checking the large black numbers resting above the dull gray padlocks. "235, 237, 239," he spoke to himself, counting down each odd number as they came by. "243, 245, 247." He came to it at last.

He stood silently, blankly staring at the door in front of him. "Should I really do this?" he asked himself aloud. He rested his hands on the back of his head. Curiosity was getting the better of him; no, he had to know.

He tapped the number on the padlock, noting each number of the password excessively worn. Falco chuckled inwardly. If you had enough free time you could probably guess the damn password. With the final keystroke the padlock lit up and the door opened with a hydraulic hiss. The falcon peered in, but saw nothing. He fumbled in the dark, feeling along for a light switch. His hand ran into a plastic button and he smacked it. The room lit up with a dull whiteness.

Shielding his eyes, he glanced across the room. Nothing. He squinted his eyes to clear his vision. Still nothing, just barren walls and empty space.

"What, there's nothing here?" He cried out loud, "This is bullshit." He took a few steps forward, scanning around the area in case his eyes deceived him. Why in the hell would Fox lie about this? Was this some deathbed joke given so Fox can laugh at him in the afterlife? He took one step backward, making to leave. He was fuming. His heel hit something solid and he lost his balance, falling backwards and smacking his head on the concrete floor.

"FUCK!" he screamed automatically. Sitting up, he grasped the object in his hands. Falco moved to strike it for having the audacity to trip him, but he stopped a second before. "Oh, there is something here." he thought to himself, a little embarrassed. He held a plain wooden trunk, no more than 3 feet across and 2 feet wide, heavily worn and discolored. Two wrought iron latches held it shut. The falcon took one last glimpse at the storage area.

"Jeez, a little overkill for one box, isn't it?" he reflected. "Well, Fox was a little weird about these things."

Slowly, Falco worked on the latches, which released with an audible pop. He opened the box carefully, gazing inside with anticipation. Inside laid an assortment of things. The avian grabbed some in one large handful. Flight tags, a large pair of sunglasses, an intricate platinum ring. Falco shook his head, "What's all this?"

He shuffled through the trunk, moving little nick-nacks and mementos around in a low rustle. Finally, he found a picture frame on the bottom of the trunk. He lifted it to get a better view. There were two figures, both foxes, an adult in his forties and a child barely five years old. Falco recognized them both. James and Fox McCloud. He had seen James several times, in magazines and some of Peppy's old photos. He thought it strange that Fox never had any himself. Well, now he knew why.

He scoured through the trunk again, this time finding a grey plastic box. He held it in hand; it was light weight, small, and held a tiny black globe in the center which protruded just an inch. On the bottom read, "Jarl-Kesson Image Technologies".

"Jarl-Kesson?" he thought to himself, "I thought they went broke, like, thirty years ago.". After fiddling with the seemingly ancient contraption for few minutes he found that it was some sort of video recording device. Three unmarked buttons rested along the sides and Falco instinctively pressed the one on the right. A 3-D video popped out from the black globe.

Gazing into it, Falco noted the grainy likeness of matted carpet. Raising an eyebrow, He watched the video buzz out and turn black. "Okay, that was nice." he reflected sarcastically. Then it came back on again, this time pointing at the ceiling. He heard a disembodied voice come through the device, "Whoa, whoa, okay. Okay I think I got it now." It swung down, dancing lazy over a body scribbling notes on a table. It looked up,

"Pigma, what are doing?" It asked harshly.

Pigma gave a rapid fire hog giggle, "Jus' capturin you workin'." he said, "You know." he staggered about, the camera waving wildly, "A picture is worth a thousan' years, words, or s'it years?" He laughed again.

The figure stood up. "Yeah, yeah, I get what you mean but you should really wait until you're a little more sober to do these kinds of things." It attempted to grab the camera, but Pigma pulled away.

"I'm jus' fine." he replied in his annoyingly high pitched manner. After the camera bobbed around a few seconds, it finally focused on the man. He was a 20 something reddish brown fox, thin, youthful, with bright green eyes and wide ears. Falco would have mistaken it for Fox, but he knew better.

"James," Pigma pleaded with the canid, "No, I'm fine." James didn't look convinced.

"Listen, Pigma." He commanded with an extended finger, "You're so wasted you can barely stand. If you fall down and break that thing it's going to be me who has to replace it."

"I c'n take care of it, I c'n take care of it."

James finally threw up his hands, "Great, you break you buy it, buddy." He slapped Pigma somewhere off camera.

The swine made some horrible guttural noise, "Okaaaay, I'll take care. I'll handle this one." The fox went back to his table and began to write again, shaking his head. The camera zoomed in to the papers.

"Watcha writin' therrre James?

James looked up at the camera, "Well, I was thinking about that situation a week ago, with Echo Squadron." He held up the papers showing his rudimentary sketches of fighter jets. "Now they had two guys. One here." he said pointing to one on the left, "and one here." pointing to another on the right.

"Now what happened is that they had three bandits, each one…" A deafening crash broke his sentence. The screen panned over to a rabbit leaning over the remains of a potted plant. The rabbit was young, well toned, and very intoxicated. He stretched a drunken hand towards to a piece of the pottery and held it to his face.

"Whoa," he looked over to James, "Sorry, this…thing gottin my way." The hare called to him with a slack jaw.

The fox came over and took the broken piece from his hand, "You know what?" he said angerly, "Just, just," he froze a moment, "Just forget it.". He scooped up the plant in his hands, "You guys can go take a leak in the officer's lounge for all I care."

Taking a long uncoordinated step forward, the hare offered a hand in consolation, "Sorry, James, I didn't mean to break it, it just wasn't were it was before."

"It's okay." James responded with half sincerity, "It's okay Peppy just go sit down."

"Peppy?" Falco thought in astonishment. "This drunk kid is Peppy?" After a second glance he found it was true; it was a strong, virile Peppy with no inkling of the wizened warrior he always knew. He carried himself tall and proud with an air of confidence, even when he was wasted.

"Peppy, hey, Peppy." Pigma called from behind the camera. Peppy paid him no mind. He moved over to the chair and, with a very unsteady gait, flopped down on it. The hare rubbed his face for a while as if to rub of the mind blur.

"Peppy, hey Peppy, Peeeeeepppppy." the shrill pig called, "What happened to the chick?"

"The who?" the hare burst out.

"That lady, what's her name, the lady you brought here."

Peppy lifted a finger to the roof, "Oooooh yeah. I put her to sleep in the bedroom."

Falco's mouth dropped open. Peppy, a player? Naaaaah, it couldn't be.

"I knew you would, I knew you would you sly little bunny!" he heard Pigma laugh while smacking what sounded like a table.

"What can I say! They love me." The rabbit replied, putting his hands behind his head in astute satisfaction.

"Oh my god." the falcon said out loud, "And all the crap he gave me about my women! Look at him." The hare stroked his head, smiling egotistically. He was very satisfied with himself. A second later, James came back into view.

"How I'm going to survive bunking with you two is beyond me." He sat down next to Peppy with a tired look on his face.

"Well," Peppy said, "How 'bout you just stop trying to fight against it, and take a few drinks yourself." Both Peppy and Pigma burst out in heinous giggles.

"No, no no no, no, as much as I'd love too." James held up the papers on the table, "I'm working on something here."

"Ooooh, let's see what divine masterpiece you're working on here." Peppy exclaimed, reaching his hand out and bending the paper towards him. "Okay." He squinted a little at the sketches. "You suck at drawing, dude."

Pigma burst out laughing, shaking the camera so the image blurred into fine streaks. James voice cut in amongst the laughter, "Peppy look at it though, this is what got the Echo Squadron guys in trouble."

The laughter quieted a bit, "I think I figured it out." the fox said, "Now, When the three bandits start engaging its two on one, as you can see here." He drew two lines the from the enemy fighters to one of the friendly craft. "Now what I was thinking, if you have the wingman do a chandelle like this." He made the corresponding motion with his hand. "Then you'll come across the bandits nose like so."

Peppy scratched his head, "Whaa? That's suicide, man. All the bandit would have to do is perform a fishhook turn and they would on top of you."

"That's the idea, Peppy. Once the bandit tails you would perform a J-turn here, then your buddy turns like so." The fox scribbled a few lines on the paper. "Then you got the 3 bandits scissored. There's nothing they can do."

"That's right." Falco thought. Peppy and Fox gave him a lesson about this when he first joined the team. It's a brilliant little piece of flying if you've a bunch of slow enemies on your tail. It got a little archaic once the new models came out, though.

Peppy lifted an eyebrow, "Nooooo way. Lemme see that." He took the papers and spread them out in front of him. Pondering a few moments, he traced his finger across the paper, "Well, you could…no wait, you couldn't do that."

Pigma finally spoke up, "You know, you know I think he's right. I think. Okay, I don't know." he finished with a chuckle. "But I don't think we should be talkin' about this kinda stuff."

James threw him a puzzled glance, "Why?"

"Because it's weird, ya know? You guys always talkin' about fightin this or fightin that. It gives me morbid thoughts, ya know? Like we're gonna die or somethin'."

"Morbid?" the fox responded, "Well, I guess it would seem that way." He stood up, looking at the ceiling as if in meditation, "I always get a kick out of flying. Even having basic conversation about it feels great. It makes you want to go out. Makes you want to fight."

To his side, Peppy gazed with beady, concerned eyes. He was listening to James speak a another language, foreign tongues he couldn't understand. "What're you saying, man?"

James went over to him, his arms outstretched like father lecturing a young boy, "When you're in a dogfight, you know what I'm talking about, when the lasers are whizzing past you and you survive each scrape by the skin of your teeth?"

The hare blinked, "Yeah, yeah I think so. But that's scary though, like, really scary."

"Not to me, man. When the chips are down like that it's a great feeling. Like the world can't touch you. You're invincible." The fox pumped his fists to air.

Falco watched James carefully. He understood him, to a degree. He had that feeling, that adrenaline high when the world slowed down and you're heart raced a million miles an hour. You think quick and you react even quicker. You're in the zone. When all was all said and done and you made it out alive, you felt good. At least that's what he thought. He never felt any sort of attraction to it, though. It still seemed to odd.

Pigma made a hacking cough, "You know what I think you need, James?"

"What is that?"

The camera swayed a few times before settling on an oak table. "I think you need a shot from my ol' friend Mr. Whiskey."

Falco laughed, "Uh oh, this looks bad for James."

Looking off camera, the fox shot to his feet, waving his hands in front of him. "Oh no, guys, we have to work tomorrow."

Standing slyly behind him, Peppy laid a hand on his shoulder. James turned to face him, "Well, guy." the hare smiled gently, "Looks like you to have to get drunk tonight." James, wide eyed, tried to get away but got tackled by his friend.

"Alright, Peppy," the pig called like a gym coach, "Hold him down and I'll administer the juice."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys." James pleaded, rolling on the floor and flailing his arms in desperate attempt to escape. "Okay, I'll drink, I'll drink. Just let me go"

Pigma cackled, "Sorry James, but I just don't trust ya." The hog slowly came down, hovering over him beyond the camera shot. His think, lumpy hands snatched onto James's nose, eventually forcing his mouth open. Then, with a swift stabbing motion, rammed the bottle halfway down his throat.

Falco laughed out loud. These three characters were a comedy routine. They're juvenile antics was a playful sting to their older, more serious personalities. Pigma was unrecognizable from the Judas he met, and Peppy, god, Peppy. If only he could only show this to the rest of the gang, the rabbit would never hear the end of it.

"Didn't expect you here." someone spoke from behind. Instinctively, Falco swiveled a half turn to see an silhouette of an old man in a scooter. The device whirred towards him and the figure came into focus.

"Peppy?" Falco exclaimed in astonishment, "Why did you." he stopped himself mid sentence, "How did you know I was here?"

"Well, if you were listening a second ago, you'd had heard that I wasn't expecting you to be here." Falco analyzed him with a dishearted stare. Peppy looked bad as he remembered. Strapped with plastic tubing, he sucked in oxygen with a wheeze and labored under his movements. Behind him lay gaggle of dialysis machines, beeping and monitoring even the slightest ebb in his physical health. He was thin, tired, and living off the graces of doctors and organ donors

"You're looking a little better." the avian lied.

Peppy chuckled, suppressing a cough, "Really? You must not be looking through mirror I looked at this morning." He started into fit of coughing, covering his mouth and shaking violently.

"You okay there?" Falco said, placing a hand on Peppy's shoulder. "Maybe you should have stayed in your hospital."

The hare bat his hand away, "Oh cram it, Falco. I won't die any faster here or there or anywhere else!"

The falcon rubbed his hands together in irritation, "Well excuse me for looking after you."

"Spare me." the hare responded, waving his hand as if swatting Falco's comment. "Now what was I saying again?"

"You weren't expecting me."

"That's right. I was expecting someone like Krystal to be here. I figured that's what Fox would ask for."

"Well, that was what he asked for."

"Hmmm?"

"I kind of came here on my own. I was supposed to tell Krystal to come here."

"And? What do you think?"

"I think seeing this would just make Krystal angry."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

There was a eerie pause between them. Falco couldn't say anything. He knew the message, but not the words to express it. He tapped his foot on the ground a few times and folded his arms. Peppy spoke up first.

"Now, what did you think about it?"

"What did I think." he looked away lazily, as if reading a message floating in the air. "I'm not sure what to think. I guess I understand him, in a way. But I don't understand why Fox decided to throw his life away over it. Estrange his wife, his kid, all of that. For what? Adrenaline? There's better ways to get it."

Peppy nodded, knowingly but not entirely in agreement, like a professor in a school room, "I think you're on the right track. But there is more to it than that," The hare moved his scooter a little closer, "What got them, and this applies to both James and Fox, is that they didn't really love flying per se."

Falco looked confused, "What do you mean they didn't love flying? I don't about James but Fox lived for that stuff."

"I know it how it sounds," he explained, "But looking back on my years with them, it's true. They weren't your normal, cookie cutter beat the guy types. They loved fighting for their lives."

Peppy sat up, holding out his hands like claws, "They flew out there like they were taunting god himself. The more dangerous the better." He let his hand fall, "I distinctly remember a time when Fox was flying over the Cornerian seas, back I was still training him. He was doing low altitude maneuvers when POP." he snapped his fingers, "The right engine blew."

"He went down in a flat spin, twirling like a top before crashing into the water. It scared the hell out of me." Peppy said. "When I got down there to check on him, he had the canopy pulled open and he was just standing there. Like nothing was going on. And when I asked him if he was okay, he just smiled. He just smiled of all things. I would have pissed myself if that happened to me."

Falco nodded. He wasn't a member of Star Fox at the time, but it wasn't a far fetched story. Fox never had trouble in the tough spots; he always enjoyed them.

"But that's when I first saw the signs." Peppy continued, "I don't know if I should have lead him away from that, try to keep him grounded in fear. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference." the hare sighed. He looked up to see Falco hanging his head, a gloomy expression etched on his visage. The hare frowned slightly at the sight.

"I know it's tough, you were right there when Fox died."

"I don't know, you seem pretty calm about it."

"I know, I know. I'm not trying to be cruel or uncaring, it's just that it doesn't seem real."

"You're in denial?"

"I guess so. It was the same when James died."

"Well, I'm sorry about that."

"Thank you."

A moment of silence. "Is there something else bothering you, Falco?

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"I'm worried."

"About what?"

"That I will end up like him someday."

"Falco." Peppy said with irritation, "You won't. You're making comparisons where they're arrrren't aany," and the sentence dissolved into another fit of throaty coughing.

The avian gazed wide eyed at him, giving him his full attention.

"The key difference is you like to succeed. You like the glory and self-satisfaction of beating the odds. I never caught you smiling when you almost get killed."

Falco placed a hand under his beak, thinking. "Yeah, you're right." he said with conviction.

Peppy shifted a little in his seat, trying to get comfortable, "So I heard you got shot down by a couple of your students today."

The avian ran his fingers over his eyes, "Jeez, does nothing stay a secret around here?"

The hare ignored him, "I also heard you were pretty upset about it. Why?"

The falcon shook his head, "I, I feel like I just got outmatched, you know. Like, 'Why am I teaching these kids if they can beat me like that.'"

Peppy gave a jovial smile, "Were they able to shoot you down when they first signed up?"

"Oh god no!" Falco exclaimed. "When I first got them they were barely out of basic flight school. They couldn't out fly a cargo jet."

"See what I'm getting at? That's a huge leap for you, Falco," he said with a smile, "It means you're a good instructor." He began to laugh...and cough at the same time, "When you first told me you were going to teach other pilots, I thought you were never going to make it. I didn't think you had the patience for it."

Falco chuckled sarcastically, "Thanks for the confidence."

"Oh shut it." Peppy shot back. "You've made some serious progress since you were young. You got a steady job, a wife that loves you and supports your lifestyle, and you still get to be a pilot. You have done, and I can't believe this, you've done what I wanted Fox to do."

He leaned forward, "Falco, I'm proud of you."

Falco stood, completely stunned. Not what he was expecting at all. Shifting a little bit, he tried to settle back down. Eventually, after an uncomfortable, speechless moment, he cracked a smile on his lips. "Thanks dad, I'm glad I could make you happy."

Peppy opened his mouth to say something, but Falco raised his hand to silence him, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Really, it does mean a lot to me."

Grinning, the hare put a hand on Falco's arm, "I'm glad, I really am. You always drove me crazy, but I never thought you were a bad kid." He pointed a unsteady finger towards him, "You just needed some..hu..direction." he said, holding back a cough.

"Thanks." the avian replied honestly. He looked down and noticed that the video recorder was still in his hand. "Oh." he held it up, "Do you want this?"

Peppy shook his head, "No thanks, you can just put it back in the trunk."

Falco went over and tossed it in, shutting the hatch after it with a sharp click.

The falcon stood laboriously, yawning widely. "Oooooh man, what time is it. I haven't sleep in ages."

Peppy shrugged, "It's well past 03:00, it'd imagine."

"Wow really?" he rubbed his eyes slowly, "God, I should really get going."

Peppy nodded, making the rubber tubing for his oxygen sway, "Yes, yes you do; you've had a hell of a day."

Falco moved to the hallway, grimacing, "A hell of a day is right. There's been so much damn drama today I could make my own TV show."

The hare gave a hearty laugh, "A TV show? Oh god I could only imagine." With a smile, the falcon walked and embraced the old hare.

"Thanks for the help, guy, you've always been great." Peppy responded by waving his arms about and gurgling.

"Okay, okay, you can show your thanks by not choking me to death." he playfully pushed him away.

"See you later."

"Get outta here, kid."

--

I found myself in a shipper's bar some odd years ago. Dusty, dirty, dilapidated, filled to the brim with weather-worn waitresses and over polished glass. In the corner lay an old jukebox, fashioned like an ancient chassis on some blown out tires. Tacky as hell. I remember putting a coin in and punching up an old tune. But son of a bitch, wouldn't you know it was a goddamn cover song. Some new band decided to desecrate its name with tangy guitars and bullshit falsetto. I stormed out, never even turned around, never bothered to listen. But sure enough, though, about a few years later I found myself in the same bar with the same goddamn jukebox. Like an Alzheimer's patient I shoved another quarter in, expecting the same song I grew up with. Not to be. But guess what, this time, and I don't know why, I liked it. It had its own…spark, if that's the only way to describe it. Man, Imagine that.


	4. Alternate Ending

A/N: This is an alternate ending I wrote during Chapter 3. I still consider the one in the story to be superior but several people said they preferred this one. So, what the hell, might as well let everyone else see it. This ending begins right after, "Falco went over and tossed it in, shutting the hatch after it with a sharp click.", and replaces the text after it.

His head shot up, "What time is it."

The hare shrugged, "A little after 04:00."

"Oh shit!" the falcon screamed, "I have to get home!" He stood up, antsy and nervous, rubbing his hands together, "Jeez, I never told my wife about this either."

"Don't worry about it." Peppy laughed, "I already called and told her about it."

Falco turned and raised a brow, "Really?"

"Oh yeah, I figured you'd forget about it."

"Thanks."

Peppy covered his mouth to stifle a cough, "No problem." His body shook with an internal hack. "Now get out of here."

Falco ran out down the hallway, his shoes clacking on the tile. Once out of earshot, Peppy rolled up to the trunk. Laboriously, he leaned down to grasp the trunk. He snapped it back open.

Feeling around the assorted memorabilia, he eventually laid hands on the warm plastic exterior of the recorder. Pulling it out, he rolled it around a few times in his hands, fixing it with an appraiser's eye. He drops in his breast pocket, and slowly makes his way out.


End file.
